


Lifelines

by alessandralee



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Backstory, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8857945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandralee/pseuds/alessandralee
Summary: Patsy first takes up nursing in hopes of helping her mother and sister survive in the prisoner of war camp. When she finally makes it to England, the possibility follows.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwrites/gifts).



> This story contains references to the canon deaths of Patsy's mother, father, and sister, as well as the illness her mother and sister suffered in the POW camp. Nothing is graphic, however.
> 
> To my Yuletide recipient: Thank you for giving me the opportunity to delve into Patsy's backstory. It wasn't something I had given a ton of thought to previously, but when I was reading through your prompts it really excited me. I hope you enjoy it!

She’d thought about England a fair bit growing up. First as the place from the stories of her parents’ youths, all stately manors and rolling fields. It was as real to her as a story in a book, vivid but untouchable.

And then, in the camp, it had been one of her lifelines. It was the place that they would all go once they were rescued. It was the home they would return to, even though she’d never set foot there.

And it’s where her father would be waiting.

Perhaps that reunion was a fantasy, the four of them happy and healthy again, with the horrors of war no longer able to touch them. But it was what made it possible to ignore the grim look in her mother’s eyes whenever Patsy or her sister mentioned their father.

Her mother never said outright that he was dead, probably because it was one of few pieces of hope she could give her daughters. It was a small candle in the darkness of the prisoner of war camp.

She held onto that fantasy when first her sister, then her mother fell ill. Patsy had already been spending a bit of time in the makeshift hospital tent. She had seen many people die, but she’d seen some recover.

Maybe it was just youthful naiveté that let her resolutely believe both her mother and sister would be some of the few to get better, but it was yet another scrap of light in the darkness. If she worked hard, gave them their best chance to fight off this disease, then certainly they would get better.

And so she applied herself to nursing them in a way she’d never done with anything before. She’d never had to.

She squirreled away whatever resources she could find, bartered her services and small favors in return for extra food and water. She’d even gone without food herself whenever possible so that her mother and sister could have more.

And even when her mother took a turn for the worst (she’d later be able to recognize it as pneumonia), Patsy held on believing in the dream of her family reunited on the cold, rainy shores of England.

When she told her stories, her mother would often complain about chilling winter rains that worked their way bone deep and lasted for days. To Patsy that sounded like a welcome respite from the horrible heat of Singapore.

But of course, some problems couldn’t be solved with only optimism and single-minded determination.

Patsy had held her mother’s hand she she took her final breaths. When she was certain no more were coming, she gently closed her mother’s eyes.

She’s only made it a few steps away from the body when she doubled over with frantic sobs. She’d curled up right there on the ground and cried her heart out. Her tears were hot on her face, and her throat felt sore after just a few minutes.

It was only concern over her sister, now the only family Patsy could be certain she still had, that motivated her to pull herself together.

For five days, Patsy thought of nothing but making her well again. If she thought only of that, then there was no room for grief to debilitate her.

On the sixth day, Patsy’s efforts turned to making her sister comfortable, to fighting through the delirium to let her know how deeply she was loved in her final moments.

The months after her sister’s death were a struggle. All of the energy she’d exerted on her nursing, the food she’d gone without, and the emotions she’d spent so long denying had finally taken their toll. She was overwhelmed and crushed the weight of her sorrow, and she could feel loneliness like a hole in her chest.

In the end, it was her frustration with herself that broke Patsy from her grief. She wanted something, anything to keep her mind away from what she’d lost.

So she’d returned to that makeshift hospital tent.

When she stepped back in there for the first time since her sister’s death, the smell of sickness was overwhelming. Patsy nearly turned tail and ran back out. The entire camp smelled awful, but this place was heaviest with death and despair.

Instead, Patsy steeled herself and walked calmly in. She began assisting with the simplest task, trying to fetch clean water and other supplies, washing up as best as she could, which, given the conditions, wasn’t very well at all.

Patsy saw plenty more death between then and the camp’s liberation. It never got less horrifying, but she learned to let the rare successes fuel her.

The death of a mother, leaving behind her children, still tore her up inside, but Patsy learned that even the smallest victory, prolonging life for days or even hours longer than expected, could give her the energy to keep pushing through.

And so the hospital tent became her new light in the darkness. It gave her hope, knowing that at least a few more people might get the chance to see their homes again.

When troops finally arrived to liberate them, speaking familiar English, everything became a blur.

She’d been washed and fed (and then fed again, more slowly and simply after the richness of her first full meal made her sick). Someone had taken her information, she’d had to tell them about what happened to her mother and sister. A doctor had looked her over, pronounced her malnourished, but with no other obvious frailties.

It has been such a whirlwind that she didn’t even think about leaving her mother and sister’s bodies behind until she’s already done so. The guilt, when it caught up to her, was like a punch to the stomach, but she plenty of time to come to terms with it.

The boat trip to London was a long one. Patsy thought of her family often, finally giving herself a chance to mourn them properly. She came to terms with the fact that her father would not be waiting for her when the boat came to port.

She also had the time to think about her future. The army man she’d spoken with said her family would be contacted, but Patsy wasn’t sure she even had any family left.

Her father had a sister, but she’d married an American and gone with him to Boston. Her paternal grandparents were dead. Her mother had mentioned an older brother, and the passing of her father, but not her mother. Patsy had never met her uncle or her maternal grandmother, and after all these years of war, she couldn’t be certain either was still alive.

When the boat finally came to port in London, Patsy was afraid to step off it. What if she had no one? What would become of her?

She did it anyway, and was informed that she did indeed have some family left. Cool relief swam over her. Her grandmother Cordelia would be sending someone to pick her up tomorrow, and she had reserved Patsy a room a respectable inn for the night.

London was nothing like the England her mother had described to her. It was neither green, nor calm, not stately, but gray, and crowded, and falling apart. Patsy new some of that could be blamed on the bombings, but certainly not all of it.

She was given directions to the Golden Stag Inn, and declined the calling of a cab to take her. She was curious to see more of the city, and the walk wasn’t far.

Despite it’s differences from the England she’d imagined, Patsy found London likable. There was something comforting about being surrounded by so many people. She passed a grocer talking to one of his customers. Perhaps they spoke like this every day, sharing news and family life.

Neighbors, Patsy mused to herself, pausing to admire an embroidered jacket in a seamstress’s window, were probably a lot like family. They would keep an eye out for you, and also let you know when you’re not taking care of things properly.

They’d had neighbors in Singapore, but they weren’t anything like family. They cared more about outdoing her parents, in business or in parties thrown, or in dress, far more than they actually cared about her parents as people.

Maybe friendly neighbors were unique to London, or perhaps they were just foreign to the high society circles her parents ran in.

A bus pulled up to the corner while Patsy waited to cross the street. A group of young women got off, all dressed in matching powder blue dresses and white aprons. Some wore dark capes over their dresses. Their faces looked tired, but their chatter was lively and so fast paced that Patsy couldn’t really follow it.

At first, Patsy thought they might be members of some girls’ school with their matching uniforms, but they seemed too old for that.

Happiness radiated off of them and Patsy couldn’t help but follow them with her eyes as, one of by one, they filed into a nearby building. The words above the doorway read “Nurses’ Home.”

Nurses.

That’s the moment the idea first appeared in Patsy’s mind, although it would take a few years of boarding school and more than one argument with her uncle before she would finally commit t it.

Nursing, or whatever crude form of it could be cobbled together in a prisoner of war camp was the thing that held her together during and after the death of her mother and sister. Could it also bring her friends like those women she had just seen?

At the very least it would give her some sort of purpose going forward. Although given the mysteries of her financial means, she had no idea how feasible of a path it would be.

Patsy stared dumbly at the door to the nurses’ home until a passerby accidentally jostled her from behind. Shaking her head to clear it, she crossed the street, spotting the inn she was heading to in the distance.

Whatever her future held, it would have to wait until she’d met her extended family for the first time and gotten her bearings. And even if she had the financial means, it would be years before she could start nursing school. 

In the meantime, she could certainly do with a hot meal and a warm bed.


End file.
